


Like A Password

by Mandibles



Series: In which both Shepard and Vega are dumbasses when it comes to love [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Jacking off in the war room, M/M, Shepard being kind of a dick, Vega loving him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vega and Shepard decide to try this dating thing out, but it's bittersweet for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Password

For the third time this week, Vega finds himself crawling out of his bunk and wandering around the Normandy. Though he gets the whole seedy underworkings of politics and shit now, the grave reports from Earth still make him antsy, twitchy. The fact that Shepard hasn’t taken him out on a mission for straight week only adds to the growing restlessness within him. He’s got all this pent-up energy, an itchy trigger finger, and it’s why he’s walking down the bridge while most the ship slumbers.   
  
The main pilot chair is empty, but a familiar fembot still sits in her usual seat, flicking through screens from various security cameras. She pauses at one when he steps forward that displays the bed he should be in but isn't.  
  
Vega clears his throat. “Must take an army to tear him away from the controls.”  
  
EDI doesn’t even look at him, her eyes focused on footage of the Med Bay now. “Not necessarily. I usually only have to tell him once.”  
  
“And, then you drag him off?”  
  
“I would never drag him in his condition.” A chuckle. “But, yes, more or less.”  
  
Vega finds himself laughing a little too hard, probably because his mind is on what he says next. “Your boy’s whipped, EDI. If only I can get mine like that.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Ah, I understand now.”  
  
“Did you honestly just look that up?”  
  
“I do not understand your colloquialisms. It makes sense to look them up.”  
  
Vega grins, leans over Joker’s chair. “Yeah, that does make sense.” He sighs and thinks about Shepard, Shepard,  _Alenko_ , and Shepard.  
  
EDI finally turns slightly, observes him in that quiet manner of hers. “You have not been sleeping.”  
  
“Not true. I nap a bit.”  
  
“You have not slept more than two hours in three days.” There’s a strange lilt in her voice that sounds a lot like . . . concern? Definitely disapproval, though.  
  
Vega smiles sheepishly. “It’s . . . kinda creepy that you know that. But, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with your pastime and all.” He gestures to the screen that pans across Liara’s room; at least she’s catching some Z’s.  
  
Another pause.   
  
“He has not been sleeping either."  
  
“’He?’ He who?”  
  
The AI flips through the screens of empty rooms and sleeping people, then stops on one.  
  
Shepard in the War Room, hunched over the console at the holotable. Blue holographic ships sail in front of him, explode into orange, and dissipate into nothing. With every rain of gold, Shepard’s shoulders twitch and slump.  
  
God, that’s heart-wrenching.   
  
“Fuck.” Vega feels his chest constrict and his hands tighten on the pilot chair. “I—I should—”   
  
“You should,” EDI agrees shortly, turning back to the display before her, dismissing him. 

Vega starts to leave, pauses. “I—Thanks for everything, EDI. Really. Thank you.”  
  
“He needs you, James.”  
  
He swallows, nods tightly.   
  
His heart hammers in his chest the entire walk to the War Room, because, fuck, he isn’t sure what he’s going to do when he gets there. He’s notoriously bad at comforting people for little things like—like getting stood up or stubbed toes; things that sting a lot at first, but taper quickly. This, though, looks  _big_  and he doesn’t think he can handle  _big_.   
  
And while he cares for Shepard,  _loves_  him, he’s still angry at him for getting drunk and kissing him and avoiding him and  _fighting a motherfucking Reaper on his own while he was stuck on the Normandy, practically clawing at himself because no one knew what the fuck was going on_.  
  
Vega has to stop before the door, has the catch his breath, because, fuck fuck fuck, that was the worst feeling in the world. Just—Just thinking if Shepard had  _died_  there—  
  
He steps and the doors hiss open and Shepard’s there and—  
  
He can’t do it—can’t do it—can’t—can’t  _breathe_ —   
  
“Vega?”  
  
“Commander,” Vega wheezes; he struggles to calm himself. But all he can see is splattered blood and contorted angles and if only Shepard brought him to Rannoch— “I—Hi. Hey.”  
  
Shepard eyes him carefully, then shuts the console, the holograms flickering, gone. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”   
  
“I—” A laugh. “I actually came here to ask you the same thing.”  
  
Raised eyebrows. “And, how did you know—” Shepard pauses, then folds his arms. “. . . EDI?”  
  
“Naturally.” Vega grins; he’s stopped trembling.   
  
Shepard smiles, but it isn’t . . . right. It’s too forced, the corner twitching as though it’s difficult to maintain it. “Of course,” he says, then the smile is gone, replaced by his ‘Commander’ face. “But, you are okay, right?”  
  
“What—I mean—” Vega scratches his chin. “I’ve been better, I guess. But, then I’ve been worse, so . . .”  
  
Shepard nods, eyes sharp. He returns to the console and then ships—Alliance ships—return in blue, Reapers creep up in red. “You haven’t been sleeping.” It’s not a question.  
  
“Neither have you,” Vega counters, moving down the stairs to stand beside him. “Which is why I’m here.” Shepard’s so close, the closest he’s been in a week, and it’s all Vega can do to not press up against him. He leans over the holotable, watching the battle intently.  
  
They watch in silence. When the first Alliance ship goes up in flames, through the clenching in his own chest, Vega sees Shepard twitch, begin to tremble, but never turn away.  
  
“ . . . Damn.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“We’re—” A hard swallow. “We’re doing our best, though. We are.”  
  
A shaky sigh. “People are still dying. And, that’s my fault.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He’s answered with silence; he glances back at Shepard. The exploding ships cast harsh shadows on his features, reflect in orangesbluesreds the wetness around his eyes and—  
  
“Oh.” He pulls back from the table, leans into his Commander. “Oh, John.”  
  
Humiliation blossoms in Shepard’s face and he turns away sharply, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Don’t,” he grits, when Vega reaches for him. “ _Don’t_.”  
  
But, he still eases into Vega’s embrace when arms wrap around him, presses his face into the crook of Vega’s neck. Vega exhales deeply, holding close, tight.  
  
He’s never imagined seeing this side of Commander John Shepard. He’s never wanted to.  
  
“This isn’t your fault,” he finds himself insisting gently. “This has never been your fault, never. If anything, you’re the only one working getting things done in this damn war.” He kisses Shepard’s temple. “You’re the only one who can defeat these guys.”  
  
Fingers dig into his back. “That’s what scares me.”  
  
Oh, god _dammit_. Why is he so  _shit_  at this?

What should he say? What should he say? What should he— His mouth opens to say something, but only an embarrassing strangled noise leaves. Thankfully, Shepard continues, trying and failing to hide the wetness in his voice.   
  
“There’s—There’s just so much banking on me, Vega.” He licks his lips, ghosts a shaky breath across Vega’s neck. “This is—is different than Saren or the Collectors. I can’t even _count_  the number of lives on the line. And, I’m the one who has to protect them all? I’m only one person; I can’t do this—”  
  
“Alone,” Vega blurts.  
  
Shepard goes still, his fingers bruising at this point.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I—You—” Vega scrabbles for words, grabbing handfuls and linking them together into sentences. “You wouldn’t be able to do this alone, I mean. And, you aren’t alone. You have all these people backing you, Commander: Liara and Wrex and Garrus and Esteban and Joker and EDI and Alenko and—and—whole alien races and—I mean, there are just so many names I can vomit right now.”  
  
Shepard’s fingers retract.  
  
“I know that—that it seems like the whole worl— _galaxy_ —is on your shoulders, but you’re not the only one. I spend most of our time on the Citadel in the refugee camps, loco. You don’t even know half of the stories I heard. But—But they still believe in us— _us_. They believe in what we’re doing.” Dammit, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore; his mouth just keeps moving, trying to find an arrangement of words that stops Shepard from  _trembling_  like this.  
  
He pulls back, tilts Shepard’s chin up so that they’re eye to eye and—damn, those are tear tracks. Vega wants to turn away, because he doesn’t think he can handle seeing Shepard like this, but he can’t. He can’t, because this man needs him.   
  
“You’re not the only one with this burden, Shepard. We’re all in this together. And we’re going to win—no—” Vega has to tug Shepard’s head back toward his. “ _We are going to win this, John_. We are. You need to get that.”  
  
Shepard stares at him with wide green eyes.   
  
After a moment, he mumbles. “I . . . I guess you plan on being there every step of the way?”  
  
There’s a tone to that that stings. He loosens his hold on Shepard’s chin and lets it set on its own. “I do. I mean, I want to, if you’ll have me.” He thinks of Rannoch.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Vega raises his eyebrows. “What?”  
  
“Why are you so loyal to me? Why do you—you—”  
  
A pause.  
  
Vega’s hands slide up Shepard’s face, wipe away tears with his thumbs. “Why do I love you?”  
  
Shepard remains silent, but the new warm tears that trail down Vega’s hands are answer enough.  
  
Vega isn’t sure what to say. How could he not love this man?   
  
“I think,” he begins, frantically stringing words together again, “It started before I ever met you. Seeing you become a Spectre . . . Damn, you were just amazing, you know? Superhuman. You’re part of the reason why I’m here now, why I do what I do.”  
  
He must sound so stupid, but if he does, Shepard doesn’t show it on his face. His Commander only watches, listens intently, his hands running up Vega’s back.  
  
“Then, I . . . When we first met, after what to the Bahak system—” Shepard twitches. “—After those six months—I think that’s when it started to turn into something different.”  
  
Their foreheads are pressed against each other and those lips are so, so close, and when did that happen?   
  
Shepard’s eyes flutter shut. “I really thought you hated me back then.”  
  
“I did,” Vega admits quietly. “I had put you up on this pedestal, you know? After . . . what you did, after I met you, after you became  _human_  to me, I didn’t know what to think. But, I still—” He hesitates, searches for the word. “I still believed in you, I guess. I still trusted you and I hated you for it, because I didn’t understand why.”  
  
A shuddered breath, arms shifting and wrapping around Vega’s neck. Vega brushes those lips with his thumbs and they part in a gasp.  
  
“When did that change? When did you start to love me?”  
  
Vega falters, thinks.  
  
“I . . .”  
  
Hands run over Vega’s hair, drawing him closer.  
  
“. . . I don’t know.”

Shepard’s eyes snap open; Vega feels his heart pound when those eyes search him.   
  
“Then, how—”  
  
“Just because I don’t know how or when or why doesn’t mean that I can’t love you,” Vega insists, kissing Shepard’s confused brow. “I love you, loco. I know we don’t have much history, but I know for a fact that I love you.”  
  
Shepard observes him silently, then, “We’re working with a lot of unknowns, aren’t we?”  
  
A half-smile. “This war started with a lot of unknowns, but we’re making sense of it now, right?”  
  
Cheeks pink, eyes puffy, a little gross, and terribly, terribly human, Shepard smiles. “Very true. On that note, I have good news for you.”  
  
“Really? I’ll bite.”  
  
“I . . .” Shepard pauses, cheeks darkening when Vega wipes at his eyes, cheeks, until they’re mostly dry, if slightly sticky. “I . . .” Another pause, a bit lip, and Vega realizes that this is big. His heart lodges in his throat.  
  
Could it be—  
  
No. No, don’t get your hopes up.  
  
“I . . .”  
  
Fuck. You’re getting excited! Calm down!  
  
“I chose you.”  
  
Oh shit. It’s not exactly what he expected to hear, but—fuck—he’s still at a loss for words.   
  
“W-What do you mean?”  
  
“I was put in a place where I had to make a choice.” Green eyes flick down to Vega’s lips, back up. “I chose you.”  
  
Vega exhales through his nostrils. “Why?  
  
Shepard’s shoulders begin shake, this time from barely restrained laughter.   
  
“I have no fucking idea. None.”  
  
 _We’re working with a lot of unknowns_.  
  
Shepard begins to snicker, then bursts into laughter; Vega stares for a moment —ohgodohgodhemeansthismeans—before joining in. His arms encircle his waist and Shepard presses into the embrace. When Shepard hesitantly leans up for a kiss, Vega is quick to meet him two-thirds of the way, their noses bumping and lips missing for a split second. Awkward chuckles are exchanged, then the ever perfect slidecurlsuck of lips and tongue.  
  
It hits him like a two-by-four to the back of the head.  
  
Vega gently pulls away from the kiss, Shepard’s tongue chasing after him. “Wait,” he murmurs. “Wait. Does this—is this—you and me, are we—Is this  _something_  now?”  
  
Shepard looks taken aback and that feel of foolishness rises in Vega like bile. He’s always saying the wrong things. It was easier in the beginning, when there was only banter and groans and _action_. Just—Just remembering the way Shepard nosed his balls, the way he bit and spat and yelled, the way he fucked—That Shepard was crazy, a good kind of horny crazy that Vega could get behind.  
  
“I don’t see why not. In fact,” Shepard admits, voice low, “I think I’d really like that. I  _want_  that.”  
  
This Shepard, this nervous, vulnerable,  _‘gooey’_  Shepard, is so much better, though.  
  
Vega’s heart flips, does a double tours en l’air off the edge of fucking glory, and envelops Shepard in another frantic kiss, tongues exploring, meeting, curling, moans leaving the both of them. He presses closer, urges Shepard back until he hits the edge of the holotable. The kiss ends and Shepard sits down, looks up at him expectantly and, fuck, Vega doesn’t know what to do next.  
  
The fingers curling into his trousers have some idea, thankfully.

“I want you,” Shepard breathes, tugging Vega closer.  
  
A snicker. “Really, babe? Right here?”  
  
Shepard looks ready to sock him one. “Call me ‘babe’ again and I will kill you.”  
  
“But, we’re officially dating or whatever now, right? That means you get a pet name.”  
  
“Fuck that.” Shepard grins as he says it, running his hands over Vega’s thighs. “And, don’t you already have a name for me?”  
  
Vega hums when his trousers are unzipped, a hand rubbing the swell in his boxers. “That’s different.”  
  
“That’s bull.” A kiss is pressed to his exposed navel, a tongue to the sparse hairs that trail downward. “God, I need you right now.” He lips Vega’s bulge, bathes his cock with warm, moist breath.  
  
“You’ve got me, Shep. Just—” Vega cups Shepard’s face. “Just tell me how you want me and I’ll do it.” Shepard begins to suck through the fabric of Vega’s boxers. “Anything.”  
  
The other man pulls away and laughs; he begins working Vega’s trousers down to his knees. He laughs harder when he pulls at the slit of his boxers and Vega’s dick bobs out, already so, so hard.  
  
“Doesn’t take you much, huh, Vega?”  
  
Vega’s cheeks burn. “Only when it comes to you, Commander.”  
  
“That so?” Shepard presses his tongue to the precome-slick slit. Vega’s breath hitches. “Do you jack off to the thought of me, Lieutenant? Do you beat this big cock to me?”  
  
A whimper. “Fuck yeah.”  
  
“Every day?”  
  
“Every second of every day.” Vega mewls when that tongue rolls under the head of his cock. Precome oozes and Shepard laps at it eagerly. “Goddamn, babe, just—just suck me or—or—shit!”  
  
Shepard suckles at the head of his erection, stroking his fingertips along the rest of his length. Pleasure streaks up into another burst of pre-ejaculate. Then, Shepard just pulls away, licking his lips.  
  
“S-Stop teasing me, Loco! I can’t—shit—”  
  
“Do it.”  
  
“Do—” Vega swallows thickly when Shepard reaches up for his hands. “Do what?”  
  
Shepard smiles broadly places Vega’s hands on his erection. “Jack off for me.”  
  
Vega stares. “What?”  
  
“I said to jack yourself, Lieutenant.” A kiss to his pubes. “Show me what you do when you think about me.”  
  
Oh goddamn— “Yeah?”  
  
Shepard noses at his pubic hair, chuckles at the moan that tears through the air when he reaches down for his balls. “I want your cock, soldier. Give it.”  
  
Done.  
  
Vega hears himself growl when he spits in his hand, reaches down for himself. A tongue dances along the underside of his dick as he begins to stroke in slow, twisting motions. Damn, just the sight of Shepard below him, his tongue out and—fuck—just waiting for his come, wanting it—  
  
“Loco,” he groans low. His skin feels hot, tight, and this is so fucking surreal, because though he’s an old hand at masturbating, he’s never done it for an audience. He’s never done it with his Commanding officer so close, so close to his cock, hot breath keeping his head damp. “Fuck—babe—fuck—”  
  
Shepard chuckles again. “Is that what you’re imagining, Vega?”  
  
It wasn’t but now it is and fuck Shepard and his stupid smug little eyes and smirk and outstretched tongue—  
  
“Dammit, Shepard—oh god—”  
  
“We could, you know, fuck. Right here.”  
  
Sweat beads on his forehead. Pleasure builds at the base of his cock.  
  
“Shit—”  
  
“It’s not like anyone would care. You’re already jacking off in here.”  
  
Legs begin to shake. Heart pounds. Muscles tightening, contracting.  
  
“Just bend me over the table and—”  
  
Fuck—shit—He’s coming—coming—  
  
Vega groans, loud, when the first burst of come hits Shepard’s face, grunts with every spasm afterward. He clutches his—his lover’s shoulders to steady himself as he rides the rest of his orgasm with his legs twitching, knees knocking together. Through bleary vision, he sees the white spattered on Shepard’s face, his tongue.  
  
He realizes that the harsh panting in the air isn’t just his own. Or just theirs.

Shepard bristles, turns, but the doors hiss shut, just catching the shadow of a foot. Whoever was there is gone.  
  
“Fuck,” Vega swears, practically in Shepard’s arms now, aftershocks tingling beneath his skin. Their foreheads knock. “Fuck, that was—fuck—hey, no—off— _ew_ —”  
  
His lover ignores him, continues to wipe his face clean with his shirt. “Someone saw us.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t care.” Vega cringes at the white splotches on his shirt, then the final spasm of pleasure that tears through him. “Guh.”  
  
He doesn’t see the glare sent his way, but he can sure as hell feel it. “I—I didn’t think we’d actually be caught.”  
  
A chuckle. “What, were you trying to keep us secret or something?”  
  
Shepard tucks him back in, pulls his trousers up to his hips. Exhales.  
  
“I . . . Yes, actually.”   
  
Vega’s stomach drops, because that—that hurts. That fucking  _hurts_.   
  
The worst part is that he isn’t surprised.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Only for a while!” Shepard amends when the Lieutenant begins to pull away. “Just—until—until—”  
  
Vega cuts him off with a kiss, because,  _fuck_ , Shepard keeps breaking his heart, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten to what he has wanted for the longest time. He just  _wants_  him so much, so badly. Shepard hesitates for a moment, then guiltily responds, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue with Vega’s.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Shepard mumbles into the kiss.  
  
“It’s okay,” Vega finds himself saying.  
  
“I’m an idiot.”  
  
“No, John—”  
  
“No, I am, I—”  
  
“You’re just selfish.”  
  
Silence.   
  
A wince. “Sorry.”  
  
“No. No, you’re—” Shepard pauses, looking down at the neckline of Vega’s shirt, shamefaced. “You’re right. You really are. Sorry,” he adds reluctantly, half-heartedly.   
  
And, Vega should be upset. Or hurt. Dammit, he should be  _angry_ ; he wants to be angry.  
  
But, he can’t. Fuck him, but he can’t.   
  
The truth he’s, he’s so pitifully in love with Shepard, he doesn’t know what to do but  _forgive_  him.   
  
And, it’s. Not. Fair.  
  
Vega noses into Shepard’s face, inhales deeply. “God _dammit_ , Shepard, you’re just so fucking difficult! Why do you do this to me?”  
  
Shepard bristles somewhat, but does ease into the touch. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Why can’t I figure you out?”  
  
“Why do you keep trying?”  
  
The answer comes easier this time, but it’s bittersweet.   
  
“I love you, John,” Vega says sullenly for what seems like the thousandth time. “And, I’ll always try, always.”  
  
Shepard laughs, warm across Vega’s neck. “That’s so sappy.”  
  
It is, but—  
  
“I’m okay with that.” Vega curls his arms tighter around Shepard, close enough to feel his heartbeat thump against him. “Sometimes you need sweet things.”  
  
A beat, then Shepard kisses his chin, softly.  
  
“I’ll get used to it. I promise.”


End file.
